


seven new and very bad songs about jenny

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: lucky you’re the one i love [7]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 19:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15870489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: Her hair fell to hide her face as she moved to take her drink, and Ripper was left with a mixture of longing and shame. He took his lemonade and tried to think about things like his gran, and his dad, and the Council, and all the reasons that falling in love would end in the same disastrous way it always had.





	seven new and very bad songs about jenny

Ripper woke up on the couch because the radio was on, realized that he was more hungover than he had ever been in his entire fucking life, groaned pitifully, and tried to go back to sleep. Only the radio was on, and it was much lighter outside than it had _any_ right to be, and—

And.

Broken images from last night were returning to him, painful bits and pieces that made him very badly want to go back to drowning his sorrows. Five more minutes, he thought, and then he could get up and drink off the rest of the hangover, right and proper, Lord knows it was what his father expected he’d be doing anyway—

“Ripper?” came Willow’s small, curious voice. “Are you awake?”

Bloody buggering _fuck._ He couldn’t drink in front of _Willow,_ he wasn’t a _monster,_ what was she doing _here?_

“Willow, I said don’t bother him,” Jenny called from the kitchen. “Come help me with this pasta.”

The knowledge that Jenny Calendar was making food in _his_ kitchen (Jenny Calendar, who he’d once seen put not one, not two, but _three_ metal implements in a microwave “just to see what would happen”) was very nearly enough for Ripper to pull himself up and out of his hangover. As it was, he only managed to sit up before he threw up into a conveniently placed wastebasket. “Fuck,” he managed. “Fucking bloody fuck fuck fuck.”

“Language,” said Jenny, swooping in from the kitchen with a glass of water. Ripper took it, trying not to look too grateful, and dodged her attempts to dab at his mouth. “You are such a child,” she said. “Seriously. Just let me—”

“I can take care of myself!” snapped Ripper, focusing on his frustration with Jenny in an attempt to forget about the events of last night. “Just—leave it, Janna, and fuck off.”

He wanted her face to close off with hurt, wanted her hands to drop and her mouth to tremble so that he could feel bad about something that wasn’t his absolute mess of a family, and that desire on its own made his chest heavy with self-loathing. But Jenny reached up, taking advantage of his moment of regret to finally wipe his mouth, and then placed the towel down, reaching up again to lightly touch his cheek. “It’s okay,” she said quietly.

Ripper didn’t know what to say to this.

“Oh my god, Ripper’s got like a billion old-person cereals!” came Buffy’s voice from the kitchen. “Are these _actual jars_ of granola?”

“See, this is the one thing I miss when I hang with you guys all night,” Ripper heard Xander respond. “Living here really is a trip and a half. Here, let me get out the _good_ cereal he doesn’t let anyone eat—”

“Don’t fuck with the kitchen!” Jenny shouted over her shoulder, her hand lingering on Ripper’s cheek. It was perhaps the barely-conscious way she kept touching him that brought a nervous feeling to his chest, one that he shoved down and ignored. His heart had never led him anywhere that wasn’t painful.

“I don’t condone this—this _intrusion_ ,” he told her. “I hope you know that.”

“You should do a better job of hiding your spare key, then,” said Jenny unsympathetically. _“Honestly._ ” She patted his cheek, then clambered up off his lap (she had been on his lap?) and headed back towards the kitchen. “Willow,” she called, “I’m serious about not bothering him, okay?”

Willow didn’t move. “Ripper,” she said quietly, looking nervous. “Was that—was that your dad who showed up at the library last night?”

Ripper looked steadily at Willow, then got up from the couch and headed over to the cabinet where he kept his strongest stuff. He certainly couldn’t get  _drunk_ in front of Willow, but he could maybe at least have a few sips to take the edge off this conversation. He was both startled and angry when the cabinet door not only didn’t open, but gave him a small and reproving electric shock. “JANNA FAKE-NAME CALENDAR,” he said loudly, “MAKE YOUR LITTLE HEX STOP OBSTRUCTING MY ALCOHOL OR I WILL FEED YOU TO A VAMPIRE.”

“No,” said Jenny primly.

“I’M NOT FUCKING JOKING—”

Jenny, who was rinsing one of the glasses he’d used last night, looked steadily at him. “You are going to tell Buffy, Willow, and Xander what’s going on,” she said, “because they need to know. You are going to understand that we are here for you, but we’re not here for you repressing and suppressing until you’ve got to drink your way through your feelings. You’re going to understand that I care very much about you.” This last sentence was said as calmly as the rest, and it was only the quiet flush in her cheeks that might have indicated any romantic meaning behind that _care_ (or maybe Ripper was searching too hard, out of some pathetic _fucking_ desperation). “And you’re going to understand that you’re _not_ alone, Rupert, no matter how hard you try to be. Okay?”

There was a very nervous silence in the apartment. Ripper looked first at Buffy and Xander, then at Willow, then at Jenny, who, for the first time since he’d woken up, looked near tears. Then he reached across the counter, took the dish from her hands, and took her hands in his, not sure how to express anything beyond that.

Jenny’s face relaxed. “Okay,” she said softly, sniffled, and squeezed his hands. “I worry about you, you know.”

“I know,” said Ripper gruffly.

“And—and it doesn’t help when you just fucking disappear on me.”

“I know, Janna.” Ripper swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

He saw Jenny’s eyebrows raise before he’d fully registered what had happened: he had apologized to her. Not once had either of them ever apologized to each other for any reason. They had a tendency to show their regret in other, less obvious ways, like Jenny picking him up an extra chocolate bar or Ripper buying her a new game for her 3DS, but few of those ways were verbal, and _none_ of them were direct. “You’re _sorry,_ ” she said. There was now real concern in her voice.

“Can we—we should talk, then, shouldn’t we,” said Ripper awkwardly, and let go of Jenny’s hands to stumble over to the easy chair. Wordlessly, Buffy and Xander followed, sitting on the couch to face him. Willow followed suit.

Jenny surprised Ripper by sitting quietly down on the arm of the easy chair, leaning on him as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “So,” she said. “Let’s talk about last night.”

* * *

 

_twelve hours ago (give or take)_

Ripper really had meant not to be shitfaced when he headed back to his apartment to meet with Jenny. He really had. But his father’s words were hanging over him, that look of cold disapproval in his father’s eyes, and he couldn’t—he _couldn’t_ deal with that kind of disappointment sober. He’d gone to the nearest pub and drank until he couldn’t drive, and then he’d driven home anyway because—fuck it, he’d rather die on the road than die at the hands of a vampire. One more thing that his father would say wasn’t befitting of a boy from a long line of Watchers.

Always a boy, in his father’s eyes. Never a man. Never worthy of being a Watcher, or a scholar, or a son.

Jenny met him at the door, saw his car parked half on the curb, and _instantly_ started shouting at him. He could tell that it was worry, because her face was blotchy in that way she got when she’d been trying not to cry, and he was five hours late to their meeting anyway so it’d make sense that she thought he might have died. He may have been a fuck-up, but he was always on time for meetings.

“—drunk off your ass and driving on the road you could have been _killed,_ Rupert, you could have _died,_ I don’t know—I don’t know what I’m _doing_ in this town even on the best of days do you know what it would do to me, losing you—” Jenny was all but sobbing. If he was a bit more sober, he’d be paying a bit more attention to the desperate relief in her eyes, but he was drunk and miserable, and it escaped his notice.

“My dad showed up,” said Ripper, looking blankly at Jenny. “Right after school.”

Jenny stopped mid-tirade and stared at him. Ripper had always made it a rule to never talk about his life before Sunnydale (Buffy, his Slayer, was the only exception to this rule) but now felt like a prime fucking time to break that rule. Everything was crumbling to bits, anyway, why not add this to the mix?

“Rupert,” she said. Her voice was very soft. It made Ripper suspect that he might not have been as good at hiding details from Jenny as he’d believed when he was sober. “Let’s go inside.”

“Don’t want to,” said Ripper.

Jenny pressed her lips together, then said, “Go inside.”

Even drunk, Ripper wouldn’t follow orders. “NO,” he said, loud enough to wake the neighbors. “NO. I WON’T.” He’d stood there and taken it from his father, hadn’t he? He could say no to this. He could say no to any fucking thing he wanted. He controlled his life, not that bastard—

“Taken what?”

Ripper stopped, staring, and realized with a jolt of horror that he had been shouting his thoughts. “I don’t—” His voice caught.

“Come here,” said Jenny, and tugged on the hem of his leather jacket, pulling him closer. He stumbled, eyes on her mouth, heart pounding in a way it wouldn’t if he was sober enough to keep himself in check.

“Janna,” he said, desperately, certain that she would know how to anchor him.

“Come here,” said Jenny. “Come home.” She placed his hands on her waist and led him in a clumsy dance-step, through the open door and into his dimly-lit apartment. This close to her, he could smell her hair, that lavender soap she used, a trace amount of coffee.

He stumbled, pressing her awkwardly against the wall, and realized for the first time how close they were. Breathing hard, he jerked away. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, and meant for it to come out rough and angry but really it just sounded small.

“Yeah,” said Jenny, and pulled herself up from where she’d been half-slumped against the wall. “I know. But can we just—”

“He’s a fucking bastard,” said Ripper.

“I know.”

“I never _told you,_ ” said Ripper sharply. “How can you know?”

“Because of the face you made when Buffy’s dad sent apology presents for neglecting her and didn’t show up in person,” said Jenny, “and because I had to physically _drag_ you away from Xander’s dad that one time. You’re fine around Joyce and you’re fine around Willow’s mom, even though Willow’s mom is seriously one of the most emotionally inattentive parents I have _ever_ seen, but you got blackout drunk last Father’s Day and wouldn’t tell me why.”

Ripper stared at her.

“I care about you,” said Jenny, and smiled, helpless and a little sad. “I pay attention.”

Ripper stared at her, and felt tired—of being this afraid, mostly. Of being so afraid to let her in. “Thanks, then,” he said quietly. It felt woefully inadequate.

“Yeah,” said Jenny.

“He says I’m a failure,” said Ripper. “That I’m a negative influence on Buffy, and that the Council’s gonna step in within the week to make sure she’s being trained by—someone better. Than me. On account of I was never supposed to train her anyway, I was just in the right place at the right time, and he says—he says he should’ve known better than to think I’d ever do something right. Says it’d be better if—if I’d just stayed with my band.”

Jenny crossed the room and held him. She was so much smaller than him, and his chin rested neatly on the top of her head, but it felt as though he was completely surrounded by her. “You need to lie down,” she said finally. If he wasn’t so drunk, he might have noticed that she was holding him to disguise the fact that she was crying.

“I’m going to feel like shit in the morning, aren’t I,” Ripper observed.

“Probably,” said Jenny, “and you’d better _believe_ we’re going to have a _talk_ about driving under the influence, Rupert. Next time, you call me, I pick you up. Okay?”

And somehow, that was the thing that finally broke him: the fact that Jenny wasn’t going to leave after a _next time._ He was trying his damn hardest not to cry, he really, truly was, but she was _there_ and she wasn’t _going_ anywhere and, and, and—

* * *

 

_now:_

“I don’t remember most of it,” said Ripper quietly. It was true. He didn’t remember the bits with Jenny, save for a brief and fleeting memory of her pressed very close. He remembered the bits with his father, but he had a rule with himself that he didn’t talk about his father with Jenny. Buffy, sometimes, because Buffy was his Slayer—but not Jenny, because whatever he felt for Jenny always prevented him from making good calls about what he should and shouldn’t tell her.

“Okay,” said Jenny. Then, “I’m going to tell you what you told me, though.”

“Fuck,” said Ripper suddenly, remembering—he’d cried into Jenny’s hair and told her about his dad. He was certain of it, even if he couldn’t remember the details. “Fuck— _Janna—”_

Jenny raised an eyebrow, turning a bit on the arm of the easy chair. Her feet brushed against his leg. “How much do you remember?” she asked, her voice careful, measured.

“I don’t—talk—about my dad,” said Ripper, then amended, “not sober.”

“I feel like that qualifies as a problem,” said Jenny quietly.

Something else came back to Ripper, something without context but no less powerful for the lack of it: Jenny, looking at him with an exhausted sadness. He couldn’t be an easy person to care for. He knew that. “Yeah,” he said, and without looking at her, he reached out and took her hand, holding it like a lifeline. “Um. My dad doesn’t think I’m a good influence on Buffy, on account of I never had any official training and there should be a real Watcher looking after her, and he says he wants me out of Sunnydale within the next month.”

“ _WHAT,_ ” said Buffy, sounding absolutely furious.

“Man, I’d get drunk too,” said Xander, an angry flush in his cheeks.

“Don’t en _courage_ him,” said Willow reprovingly, swatting Xander’s shoulder. To Ripper, she added, “Your dad’s _stupid._ Has anyone told him that?”

He felt Jenny’s shoulder bump his, quietly, as if to say _see, talking isn’t so bad._ “No,” he said. “No one tells him that. He’s high up in the Council and he’s the only reason they even let me _near_ Buffy, and if he says I have to leave Sunnydale—” He stopped. “I’d like a drink.”

“I meant it when I said you won’t be having—” Jenny began sharply.

“Not alcohol,” said Ripper. “Tea.” Jenny moved as if to get up; he tightened his grip on her hand. “If it’s not too much trouble?” he asked, looking up at the others.

“Oh, I’ll get it,” said Willow immediately, hopping up from the couch. Buffy tugged on Xander’s sleeve, pulling him along.

Ripper looked up at Jenny and felt a lump in his throat. “It’s a bloody mess,” he said.

“We’ll handle it,” she said, reaching out to run a hand through his hair. “That’s what we do.”

* * *

 

The Council representative was due at some point during the next week. Ripper’s father had long since left town, because Ripper’s father didn’t waste time, and spending time with his failure of a son was a waste of fucking time, apparently. Ripper dealt with his feelings by writing seven new and very bad songs about Jenny and then trying to play them for Xander.

“Dude, those suck,” said Xander.

“Thought they did,” said Ripper.

“Are they _all_ about Jenny?” Xander sounded doubtful, like he didn’t really see what about Jenny inspired seven bad songs from Ripper. “You’re worse than that football player guy who had a crush on her.”

“I could punch football player guy’s lights out,” Ripper informed Xander, and strummed a violent chord.

“Sure,” said Xander, placating, and shifted a bit in his position on the floor. Then, “Um, my mom says she’s gonna send some more of my stuff by. Is it okay—”

“She can drop it off here, you’re living here anyway,” said Ripper. “I’ll drive you over to Willow’s for the day if you don’t want to see your mum.”

Xander shrugged. Lightly, he said, “It’s just that she never—stopped—any of the stuff that went down with my dad. I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Ripper reached out and awkwardly clapped Xander on the shoulder. “But you’re here now,” he said. “Which isn’t too bad.”

“Yeah,” said Xander. “Even if your songs suck.”

Ripper went back to strumming a song about Jenny, not yet singing the half-formed lyrics; he thought the melody, at least, had promise. It had the word _love_ in it, though; he supposed that that could be a problem if he was going to perform it at the gig in a few days.

“You should just stick to the one that got her all turned on,” said Xander in what he seemed to think was a helpful tone of voice. Ripper tossed a guitar pick at him. He dodged it, laughing. “C’mon, man, I’m trying to _help—_ ”

“Hey, losers, I brought snacks,” called Jenny, breezing in the front door with an armful of thoroughly unhealthy things. Seeing Ripper’s mouth opening, she added, “You know what, Rupert, I am _eighteen,_ I am an _adult,_ I can make any goddamn choices I want—”

“You are going to die of poor nutritional habits,” said Ripper, “and I am not having you pull Xander down that same path.”

“It’s the sexier path,” said Jenny unapologetically, sitting down between Ripper and Xander on the floor. “You know, all your songs have been horrible lately? What happened to that one you wrote about me?”

“I’m fucking miserable thanks to my complete arse of a dad,” said Ripper. “Not exactly going to be at my artistic best, am I?”

“Please,” Jenny scoffed. “Everyone knows miserable artists make kickass stuff. You’re just repressed.” She leaned back on her hands, biting her lip and grinning at him like she was waiting for him to contradict her.

“Am I, then,” said Ripper, and strummed a chord. Half a lyric came to him— _thinks she knows it all but she doesn’t know she’s got my heart—_ but that was a song in general and not really a song about Jenny. Songs about his heart fell into the territory of Ethan, who had inspired quite a few melodramatic two-boys-in-love songs. One quite literally titled “Two Boys In Love.” His Ethan period was wholly unimaginative, song-wise.

“That one sounds okay,” said Jenny. “Any lyrics?”

Ripper considered, then sang: “ _You’re insecure, don’t know what for—”_

“That’s not you, Rupert, that’s One Direction,” said Jenny with some exasperation, then, “How do you even _know_ that song?”

“Babysat Dawn enough for it to stick,” said Ripper, “and the real question is how do _you_ know that song when I’ve not sung half the first verse?”

“Shut up,” said Jenny. Xander started laughing.

* * *

Ms. Summers had this tendency to fuss over Ripper like a stray puppy as it was, but upon finding out about his dad from Buffy (who, as it turned out, was _incredibly_ nervous about losing Ripper to the Council), she got even _worse._ “I’m serious, Rupert, call me if _anything_ comes up,” she was saying on her way out the door, “legally, morally, anything, because I absolutely do not approve of your father swooping in and barring your friendship with _my_ daughter.”

“Right,” said Ripper. “Um, dinner’s in the fridge?”

“I want ice cream,” said Dawn in a wheedling tone of voice.

“Yes, well, you won’t be having it without dinner,” said Ripper, mostly because Ms. Summers was there and he had to look like the sort of person who was trustworthy enough to leave a nine-year-old with. To Ms. Summers, he added, “I really will be all right, Ms. Summers. I’ve had worse.”

“Hmm,” said Ms. Summers, smoothed down his hair, and stepped out towards the waiting car. She was going off to some art gallery thing with a gentleman friend, one who Buffy had made many loud noises of complaint about to Ripper on patrol. Ripper, who could always use a bit of extra cash, was just grateful for the opportunity this gave him to make some money and actually have fun doing it. The Magic Box was—well—actually also quite fun when he wasn’t running the counter, but that was beside the point. It most certainly wasn’t as fun as spending time with Dawn.

“I want ice cream,” said Dawn as soon as the door swung shut.

“Right, then,” said Ripper, and picked a giggling Dawn up, swinging her onto his shoulders. “Mind your head,” he added as they walked through the open door to the dining room, and then into the kitchen, where Buffy and Willow were working on their homework. “Oi, you two want ice cream?”

“I want _all_ the ice cream!” objected Dawn.

“Sharing is caring, pint-size,” Ripper informed her, setting her down on the floor. “Haven’t they taught you that in primary school?”

“ _Elementary_ school, weirdo,” said Dawn, “not _primary_ school, we’re not in _England,_ ” and headed towards the fridge.

Ripper sat down next to Buffy, who looked up at him a little nervously. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said lightly.

“You were a _total_ mess,” said Buffy. “And you said sorry to Jenny. You _never_ say sorry to Jenny. One time you broke her _arm_ and you didn’t say sorry.”

“All right, first off, Janna crashing her motorcycle into that tree was absolutely _not_ my fault,” Ripper began indignantly, “she was driving _recklessly_ and I had a bloody responsibility to tell her so, how was I supposed to know she’d try n’ turn around to tell me off—” Buffy’s face hadn’t relaxed. He sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “I was a total mess. I’m doing better, though, Buff. I am.”

“Promise?” Buffy’s voice was unsteady.

“Buffy—”

“Ripper, I-I know we fight sometimes,” said Buffy quietly, “but I don’t want some dumb old-guy Watcher telling me what to do. I want my dumb friend here.”

Ripper felt unexpectedly warmed. “Oh,” he said. “Well—that’s. ‘M glad.”

“We all love you, you know, Ripper,” Willow added.

“Mmm hmm!” Dawn agreed, already a good five spoonfuls into the pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

Buffy gave him a small, uncertain smile. “I just don’t want you going anywhere,” she said. “That’s all.”

“And I promise I won’t,” said Ripper, and something solidified in his chest: he _wouldn’t._ He would not go anywhere. The Council knew about Watchers and Slayers, but it had never once met Buffy Summers, kind and loving and loyal to a fault. Perhaps he might not be as good at training a Slayer, but he at least knew he could be of help to _Buffy._

“I don’t like this,” Dawn announced to the kitchen, and shoved the ice cream back into the freezer without bothering to remove the spoon or replace the lid. “Mom needs to stop experimenting with weird flavors.”

“Dawn, put that away _properly,_ ” Buffy began in her Bossy-Older-Sister voice.

Noticing Dawn’s growing scowl, Ripper hastily intervened. “Dawn,” he said, “wasn’t there that music video you wanted to show me? I’ll get the ice cream, Buffy,” he added as Buffy opened her mouth to object.

“Wow,” said Willow, giggling. “He just totally mommed you.”

“Sure,” said Ripper. “Call it that.”

* * *

 

Edna Giles showed up two days later in the middle of patrol, which really did seem a metaphor for how fucking complicated Ripper’s family always seemed to make things. He was _right_ in the middle of delivering a particularly graceful right hook while also making sure that Jenny could see him doing it, and then he saw his _gran_ over the vampire’s shoulder and forgot what he was doing.

The vampire, sensing weakness, tackled him. Ripper only had a moment of panic before Jenny fell on top of him; she’d dusted the vampire from behind, and was now at the perfect angle for her hair to fall down and tickle his face. He was having trouble breathing.

“Oh,” said Jenny, and didn’t move. Her cheeks were pink.

This was, of _course,_ when his gran came over and said, “Rupert, what on _earth_ was that display?”

Ripper couldn’t figure out whether answering his gran or continuing to stare at Jenny’s mouth was the best course of action, and settled for just closing his eyes and waiting for the situation to somehow resolve itself. He only opened his eyes when he felt Jenny’s weight shift off him, then pulled himself up and dusted himself off with as much dignity as he could. “You _startled_ me,” he said sharply. “Wasn’t expecting to see my _gran_ in an American cemetery, of all places.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, either,” said his gran, giving him that steely-eyed impossible-to-read look that was somehow _much_ more comforting than his father’s blank, dispassionate expression. “It isn’t exactly where anyone at the Council thought you’d end up, to say the least.”

It was strange, how something that would cut if his father said it felt gentle coming from his gran. “Yeah,” said Ripper, and shrugged a little tiredly. “So you’re to tell my dad that I’m doing a shit job and take me back to England, yeah?”

“As a matter of fact, I am not,” said his gran, sounding somewhat offended by the concept. “I am here to observe your operations and see if they really are as much of a mess as your father insinuates. That man does tend to exaggerate, and it is to his own detriment. He complained to me about you before talking to the Council, and I told him that I would look in first to see if he wasn’t biased.”

“Huh,” said Jenny, who was leaning against a nearby tree. “You know, you don’t suck as hard as Rupert’s dad.”

To Ripper’s surprise, his gran gave Jenny a thoughtful look, then said, “No, I suppose I don’t,” and stuck out her hand. “Edna Giles.”

Jenny looked to Ripper.

“What?” said Ripper. Then, “Oh—it’s fine,” and meant it.

He had a feeling Jenny could tell, too, because her face relaxed very slightly as she shook his gran’s hand. “Jenny Calendar,” she said. “And listen, you’d better not leave him worse than you found him, Mrs. Giles. He’s needed here.”

Ripper’s gran was looking at Jenny in that way she’d sometimes looked at Ripper when he’d done something very right. “I don’t entirely know yet what I will report to his father,” she said, “but I can assure you that I will make a decision based on what I genuinely believe will be best for Rupert.”

“Yeah, well, I hope your judgment is sound,” said Jenny, smiling sharply. “Lot of bad things can happen in Sunnydale.”

“For the love of _god,_ Janna, can we leave the murder threats for _after_ she’s made a decision,” said Ripper loudly, hurrying forward to tug Jenny away from his gran. “Sorry, Gran. She’s just—”

“Protective,” said his gran. “A valuable quality, I think.”

Buffy then came running over with a demon head in one hand and her high heeled-boots in the other. “Ripper, one of these _broke,_ ” she complained, “mid-fight, does the Council pay for shoe damage or am I just gonna—oh. Hi. Are you a Council person?”

“She’s Rupert’s grandmother,” said Jenny.

“Seriously?” Buffy squinted at Ripper’s gran as if trying to discern a family resemblance. “Well, you picked a really bad time for a visit.” She tossed the demon head to Ripper, who caught it. “I need to, like, _burn_ my clothing, it is _covered_ in demon blood,” she announced to no one in particular, and then flounced off in the direction of Ripper’s Citroen.

“That’s your Slayer?”

God, Ripper wished his gran wasn’t so bloody impossible to read. “Yes, uh, yeah,” he managed, feeling utterly out of his element. “Um—Janna and I usually head off to grab a bite after patrol. I’ll meet up with you at home, all right?”

His gran’s eyes went from Ripper to Jenny and back again. Then she said, “All right.”

* * *

 

“I’ll have a beer,” said Jenny. When the waitress gave her a doubtful stare (Jenny looked closer to sixteen than eighteen if you didn’t know her that well), she huffed in defeat and amended, “I’ll have a…root beer,” and the waitress nodded approvingly and hurried away.

“That’s the spirit,” said Ripper. Jenny flipped him off. “Stop that,” he said, grinning, “I’m in _distress—”_

“Not when you’re with me, you’re not,” said Jenny, “with me you’re just Rupert and we’re ordering burgers.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Under the table, Jenny’s sneaker-clad foot brushed against his. “And we need to talk about your grandmother.”

“That’s the least sexy thing you could say right now, Janna, I hope you know that,” Ripper informed her, trying to turn the conversation towards flirtatious jokes. He was much better at flirting with Jenny than talking about his gran (which was saying a _lot,_ seeing as he was fucking terrible at flirting with Jenny).

Jenny didn’t take the bait. “Is she okay?” she asked. “Like…is she like your dad?”

Ripper exhaled. “No one’s like my dad,” he said.

Jenny nodded, fiddling with a sugar packet. “We don’t have to talk about your dad,” she said. “I mean, I of all people know how much family fucking sucks. I was really, really happy where I was, and then all of a sudden—” She shrugged, sort of jerky, and Ripper realized with a jolt that this was the first time he had _ever_ heard Jenny bring up her family. “Anyway,” she said.

“Janna,” said Ripper slowly. “What _are_ your parents like?”

“Out of the picture,” said Jenny, eyes on the sugar packet. “I lived with my uncle till I was seventeen, and then he had me go through the whole emancipation process when I started making trouble for the family. Couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.”

Jenny had told Ripper about Angel after patrol one night, when they were both leaning against the side of his car and waiting for Buffy and Angel to stop kissing in the cemetery. She’d told him that Angel was a vampire with a soul, and that she was from the family that had given him that soul, but that she didn’t think Angel was evil and she wasn’t part of her family’s vengeance crusade. It had made him like her a bit more, certainly, but he hadn’t thought quite a lot about the odds of her ending up in the exact same town as the vampire her family hated.

“I wanted to do something _right,_ ” said Jenny jerkily. “So I-I came here. To keep an eye on Angelus, and because renting a place here is ridiculously cheap. I thought—maybe if I showed I could do this, this _one_ thing for them—maybe then they’d want me back.”

Ripper reached across the table without even thinking about it, taking Jenny’s hands in his and looking down at them with a lump in his throat. “So we’re not so different, then, you and me,” he said quietly. “S’pose I always thought…if I showed my dad I knew what I was doing, here, he’d see that I wasn’t as big a failure as I am.”

“You aren’t—”

“Don’t,” said Ripper, trying to smile. “Don’t tell me I’m not a failure, all right? I know you care about me, but I’ve done some truly fucked up stuff, Janna, gotten some good people killed, and all because I wanted to be a fucking _rebel—_ ”

“I know you’ve done stupid things,” said Jenny steadily. “I’ve _seen_ you do them. But you pull yourself up and dust yourself off, every time. I don’t think you should call yourself a failure when you’re brave enough to keep _trying._ ”

“I raised a demon,” said Ripper pointedly. “For fun.”

“Rupert…” Jenny tugged one of her hands away from his, reaching up to nervously touch his cheek. “That kind of loneliness and isolation,” she said, “I’ve _been_ there. I think I’d have raised a few demons for fun myself if I hadn’t met you when I did.”

Their drinks showed up then, which was lucky; Ripper had been about to tighten his grip on Jenny’s hand, pull her outside, and kiss her, gentle and true, until she could feel right down to her bones that she was precious. “Um, you ordered…” he trailed off, moving back.

“Yeah, my root beer,” said Jenny, an almost embarrassed blush rising in her cheeks. Her hair fell to hide her face as she moved to take her drink, and Ripper was left with a mixture of longing and shame. He took his lemonade and tried to think about things like his gran, and his dad, and the Council, and all the reasons that falling in love would end in the same disastrous way it always had.

* * *

 

Ripper’s gran actually ended up being present for one of their emergency late-at-night supernatural meetings—though this wasn’t too surprising, seeing as there was generally a supernatural emergency at least once every week. She didn’t take notes (unlike his father, who had showed up with a whole notebook’s worth of notes on his activities) but she did listen, still with that thoughtful expression on her face.

“So it’s…trying to eat…the gymnastics team,” Willow was mumbling as she scribbled on her notepad.

“As in right now trying or drawing up plans trying?” Xander asked uneasily.

“Drawing up plans, weirdly enough,” said Jenny, handing Xander a printout of the pictures she’d taken when they’d found the demon’s crude sketches. “Gymnastics is about strength, flexibility, and speed, and this demon has gotta be one that takes on the physical qualities of its food. It’s angling to get the strength of the entire Sunnydale High gymnastics team, and I’m guessing poor Sarah just happened to be in the locker room at the wrong time.”

“What is it with demons and targeting extracurricular events?” Buffy complained. “Ripper nearly gets axed by that brain-needing demon at the talent show, I almost die that one time I go out for cheerleading—”

“Can’t really afford to go on tangents at the moment, Buffy,” said Ripper, pointedly but not unkindly, “we’ve got a gymnastics team to save.” He thought he saw his gran smile, just a bit, and did his best to focus on the meeting instead. “So Janna and I, we’ll start looking up how to actually kill this thing. Buffy, you’re on patrol—”

“I’ll go with her,” Willow added. “I know you’re not big on the whole Buffy-patrolling-alone thing—”

“Someone has to drive them to the cemetery,” said Jenny suddenly, and surprised Ripper by turning to his gran. “Mrs. Giles, I know this isn’t regular, but our operation depends on the contribution of everyone available, and these kids aren’t old enough for their learner’s permits.”

“Watch it, smarty, you’re only four years older than most of us,” Xander objected.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jenny waved a hand. “Besides which, this way you’ll get to see Buffy’s techniques, and you’ll be able to get a sense of the way she operates without her Watcher present. I feel like that could be really valuable if you’re trying to decide whether Rupert did a good job teaching her how to be a good Slayer.”

This was a startlingly logical point. Ripper tried not to look too enamored by Jenny taking charge so effectively and efficiently. He always knew she _could,_ but it was just incredibly sexy when she _did,_ and fuck fuck fuck he had not meant to let himself think that. Damn it. He took a sip of tea to disguise his blush.

“That does seem reasonable,” his gran was agreeing, “though I do admit I was hoping to see a bit more of the researching process.”

Xander snorted. “You’re not missing anything, trust me,” he said. “Ripper keeps insane hours. We’re probably gonna show up and find him still reading.”

As the rest of the group discussed patrolling plans, Ripper headed over to the bookshelves and began sorting through his collection. There were quite a few demons that absorbed the strength of their enemies, not to mention semi-intelligent demons capable of plans, so this one was going to be a bit difficult to pin down in one night.

“Hey.” Jenny stepped up, knocking her shoulder against his. “Task me with something boring to look through.”

“On it,” said Ripper, and reached for the largest, dustiest volume.

“ _Ru_ pert!” Jenny was giggling.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is that too _boring_ for you?” Ripper leaned against the bookshelf, mock-offended. “And after you just asked to be _bored_ by me, Jenny?”

Jenny blinked, her smile freezing on her face, and then she blushed.

“What?”

“You usually call me _Janna_ ,” said Jenny softly. “Hearing you say the name I chose for me—it’s kind of nice.”

Ripper blinked, a bit startled by this. “Oh,” he said, embarrassed. “I s’pose I always—I mean, you always called me Rupert, I just figured—”

“No, it’s—” Jenny laughed a little nervously. “I can start calling you Ripper, if you want,” she said. “It seems a little weird that we use different names with each other, right?”

But the thought of Jenny calling him _Ripper_ left a strange and acrid taste in his mouth; as much as he did like the respect that the others gave his name, the way Jenny said _Rupert_ made him feel anchored to a different and more hidden part of himself. He was frightened of expressing this, but frightened of losing the affection she infused into _Rupert—_ as though it couldn’t possibly translate to any other name. “I like it when you call me _Rupert,_ ” he said finally, a concession.

There was a painfully charged moment between them, then. They were close enough that he could hear the nervous stutter of her breath, and the way it picked up when he moved just a tiny bit closer.

“Hey, Ripper!” called Xander from where he was helping Willow with her coat. In his haste to jump away from Jenny, Ripper collided rather painfully with a nearby end table. “You mind if we grab the good weapons on our way out?”

“Yeah, really show your grandma our stuff!” Buffy added, and flexed for good measure. Willow giggled.

“Yeah, yep, fine, absolutely,” said Ripper too loudly, certain he was blushing as he turned back to Jenny. “Um, about that book—”

“I’ll check the Internet first,” said Jenny, giving him a half-apologetic smile—as though she thought the lingering awkwardness between them was somehow _her_ fault. It made him feel incredibly guilty.

* * *

 

Ripper woke up because someone was gently shaking him. Awkwardly, he pulled himself out of the book he’d been using as a pillow, realized that his glasses had left indentations on his face, and winced. “Damn,” he muttered, then squinted up at Jenny.

“You wear glasses?” she said, as though wearing glasses was the most endearing thing anyone could possibly do.

“Sometimes,” said Ripper, taking them off and setting them on the desk in front of him, “for reading. Why’d you wake me?”

“Your grandma’s about five minutes away,” said Jenny. “Buffy texted me and that woke _me_ up.” She sighed. “I’m not gonna get my history essay done, huh?”

“I’d bet on no,” said Ripper wearily. “I did, uh, find a few things, so we’ll at least be saving the world. If that helps.”

“If the world’s still here, I still get an F on my half page of crappy history essay,” said Jenny grouchily, but sat down on the edge of his desk, leaning a little on him. “You think Buffy did okay on patrol?”

“Buffy’s not the one on trial,” said Ripper.

Jenny winced. Then she said, “For _once,_ Ripper, I’d really love it if you did _not_ take a perfectly innocuous question asked of you and use it to beat yourself up. Seriously.”

Ripper stilled, looking up at her with wide eyes. Then he managed, “Kinda get why you blushed when I called you Jenny,” because—hearing her call him _Ripper,_ after nearly a year of nothing but _Rupert,_ felt—not distancing, as he had expected, but _frighteningly_ intimate.

Jenny gave him an amused smile. “Yeah?” she began, moving closer.

There was a banging at the door. “HEY RIPPER YOU AWAKE?” hollered Xander.

“YEAH, AND SO’S THE REST OF THE BLOODY STREET WITH YOU SHOUTING LIKE THAT,” Ripper called back, trying not to laugh.

The door was unlatched and opened, and Buffy tumbled through, not a scratch on her. “Ripper, you should have _seen_ me, I was on _fire!_ ” she babbled, sprinting up to him and throwing her arms around his neck. Ripper overbalanced in the chair and nearly fell sideways; Jenny steadied it with her foot before he hit the floor. “Like the vampires were all over the place but I was _way_ faster and I hit one with a right hook _directly_ into a tree branch and why does your face look like it was smushed in a book?”

“I took a bit of a nap to celebrate finding out how we’re to kill that demon tomorrow,” Ripper answered, carefully disentangling himself from Buffy and standing up. “Jenny, you all right to drive them home?”

“Actually, Rupert, I would be happy to assist in driving the children home,” said his gran. “If we might just have a word in private?”

Ripper felt his stomach clench. “Um,” he said.

“Nothing too serious,” his gran reassured him.

Ripper still wasn’t sure how to feel about this, but pulled himself up anyway, because him panicking would make everyone else panic and he didn’t want that to happen. Apprehensively, he followed his gran outside, shutting the door behind them both. “I hope it was a decent patrol,” he began.

“Your father,” said his gran, “really can be an absolute idiot when it comes to you. This is perhaps one of the most efficient operations I have seen in my career.”

This was the exact last thing that Ripper had been expecting her to say. “What?” he managed.

“It certainly is true that you have an emotional investment in your Slayer,” said his gran, giving him a small smile, “one that traditional and trained Watchers would be reprimanded for, but it is incredibly clear to me that this investment—sustains her. Supports you. It gives you both much more incentive to fight.”

“Well, yeah, Buffy’s all right,” said Ripper awkwardly; now didn’t seem like the time to mention him letting Buffy practice painting his fingernails or them having bi-weekly movie nights together. She was sort of like a little sister, Buffy, if one got down to brass tacks. “Guess I wasn’t expecting you to, um—think that too.”

His gran looked at him, then said, “You know, Rupert, I only have one criticism of the methods I’ve been seeing you use.”

The tension that had begun ever since she’d praised him dissipated immediately; _this,_ criticism, Ripper was used to. “Yeah?” he said, trying to sound grudging and not relieved.

“Place a little more trust in your heart,” said his gran, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It led you here, and you are doing a _remarkable_ job. You know me, Rupert; you know I don’t say these things lightly or thoughtlessly. You have embraced your destiny in a way that is perhaps unconventional, but nowhere near abysmal.” Her smile…didn’t widen, exactly, but it looked slightly brighter. “I’m quite proud of you.”

* * *

 

Jenny was the only person there when he entered the house again; Xander always liked making sure that the girls got home safe, and so he’d gone along with them. She was sitting on the kitchen counter and singing off-key. “ _A click of her mouse and she’ll be casting a spell,”_ she was warbling, and Ripper realized with a small shock that she was singing one of _his_ songs. “ _What’s worst about her is that she knows me too well—”_ She cut herself off, laughing, then said to herself, “Yeah, he sings it better.”

Heart pounding, Ripper all but stumbled into the kitchen. Jenny turned her head, a half-smile on her face. “Well?” she said. “What did she say?”

Ripper stepped up to the counter and kissed her.

He felt her gasp against his mouth, heard it turn into a badly-suppressed moan as she kissed him back. Her hands fluttered around his face before settling to tangle in his hair, pulling him as close as physically possible to the point where his legs hit the counter, _hard,_ but honestly he couldn’t care less. He gripped her waist at the spot between her jeans and her shirt, then let his hands move up to cup her face, the kiss becoming more tender than urgent. Being this close to Jenny after—well—agonizing months of _being this close to Jenny_ —it was indescribable, fucking wonderful, he could write an entire _album_ about the dizzy bliss he was in right now—

Mental clarity returned to him, and he pulled slowly away, all but terrified that kissing Jenny this unexpectedly might have been a bloody terrible idea. But though she looked stunned, almost frightened, she hadn’t removed her hands from his hair. “Don’t mess me around,” she said.

Ripper stared at her. “I’d _never,_ ” he said.

“Rupert, maybe we’re not on the same page,” said Jenny unsteadily. “I’ve been giving you a lot of space, because my feelings for you are pretty big and I didn’t want to—to smother you with them, or pressure you into anything, but kissing me casually isn’t something that you can do. Okay? I can’t do friends-who-kiss, I can’t do getting-to-know-you dates. I just—” She sniffled, and Ripper stared; she was crying. Not once had he seen Jenny cry. “I just—”

“Hey,” said Ripper softly. “Hey.” He kissed her, first her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

“Please don’t mess me around,” Jenny whispered.

“Never,” said Ripper, letting his nose brush hers. “Never, never, never, Jen.”

Jenny managed a small smile, then sniffled. “You love me?” she said.

“Yeah, I, uh, think so,” said Ripper, smiling a little nervously.

“So you just came _charging_ in here to make out with me when you figured it out?”

“Context is important,” said Ripper, annoyed. “My gran said—”

“So your grandma set us up?”

“Bloody hell, Jenny, would it _kill_ you to let me explain what’s going on?”

“Yes, it would, _Ripper,_ ” said Jenny, looking at him with bright eyes, “because every second you’re explaining is a second I could be kissing you.”

“Fuck,” said Ripper, and kissed her again. She made the sweetest noises, Jenny, when she was kissed, and she tasted a bit like the Snickers bar she’d had while they were researching. “I love you,” he mumbled against her mouth; he had never had a real reason to say those words before, not without feeling like he was making himself suddenly vulnerable.

“I love you too,” Jenny whispered back, and his heart nearly stopped; _this_ he hadn’t expected. He pulled back. She gave him a wobbly smile. “Thought I was kinda obvious, personally,” she said, “but you have about as much awareness as a bag of bricks, so I guess it makes sense that you’ve been all weird these last few weeks.”

“Thanks  _ever_ so,” said Ripper weakly; he was still reeling from the fact that Jenny Calendar, the most wonderful person he had ever met, _loved him too._

“So,” said Jenny. “Explain.”

Ripper winced. “Um, this won’t do wonders for my street cred—”

“You never had any, babe,” said Jenny sympathetically; he was torn between being annoyed at what she’d said and being extremely pleased about being called a babe.

“—anyway,” said Ripper, “she told me—trust my heart. And I didn’t, up ‘till now, on account of my heart thought Ethan was a good idea, and look what happened then, but—” He smiled a little nervously. “If I’m doing well enough at taking care of Buffy that my gran thinks I’ve got a good head on my shoulders,” he said, “then maybe falling in love with you isn’t—maybe it won’t get you hurt.”

“Yeah?”

“The last fucking thing in the world I’d do is mess you around, Jen,” said Ripper, shaky but earnest. “I didn’t want to—to hurt you. I feel sometimes like I just—hurt—”

Jenny cupped his face in her hands, resting her forehead against his. “No,” she said. “Okay? You don’t hurt people, Rupert. You make me a better person every day, I think, just by being around and calling me on my shit and telling me off when I’m pulling reckless stunts with my motorcycle. You help Willow with her homework and you babysit Dawn and you’ve opened up your home to Xander, for god’s sake. You are a _good person_ and you make people _better._ I won’t hear you saying anything else.”

Ripper swallowed, hard. He wasn’t used to this, this vulnerability without danger, this being loved for being _himself_.

“I love you,” Jenny whispered. “I love you because the last thing you would do is hurt _anyone._ Maybe I didn’t know you back when you were young and angry and hurting, but I know you now, and the guy I know is someone more than worth loving. I want you to know that.”

“I look at you and I want you to know how incredible you are,” said Ripper, tripping over the words in his urgency to get them out. He had never said these things to her; he preferred singing them, or keeping them to himself, and he was half afraid that he would lose his nerve and lock them away again. “I want you to know—how fucking _much_ I love you, even if I don’t always know the right words—”

Jenny laughed, sounding honestly startled. “Of course you know the _words,_ ” she said, then sang: “ _She’s never needed savin’, that brown-eyed techno—”_

“That doesn’t count,” said Ripper, dismissive and a bit embarrassed.

“It’s you,” said Jenny. “How could it not count?”

Ripper laughed a little wetly, then tugged at Jenny’s belt loop until her legs were around his waist, lifting her up and kissing her properly. He stumbled a bit with her in his arms, both of them kissing and laughing and kissing as he staggered out of the kitchen and sank down onto the couch, Jenny in his lap. “I love you,” he whispered, “I love you, I love you,” because god, he really, really did.

He was in love, and loved, and happy. That was new.

Or not new at all, depending on how you looked at it.


End file.
